


The Final Performance of Malcolm The Magnificent

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:38:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sergeant Malcolm Flood, AKA Malcolm The Magnificent.  His one goal in life had been to be known as the most accomplished escape artist in the world (or at least in England, which was pretty much the same thing for him).  They'd experienced a couple of his performances, back in Stalag 13, had to acknowledge his considerable talent; had heard of his theatrical success after the war.  Still, Peter and Andrew had never thought that they would be on hand to witness the grande finale, the last performance of Malcolm The Magnificent.





	The Final Performance of Malcolm The Magnificent

**Author's Note:**

> We first met Sergeant Malcolm Flood in the Hogan's Heroes series episode 'The Most Escape-Proof Camp I've Ever Escaped From'. 
> 
> Richard Hannay was the go-to fictional spy, well before James Bond came on the scene. Created by the Scottish novelist John Buchan, immortalized by Alfred Hitchcock in a film loosely-adapted from Buchan's first of five books featuring Richard Hannay, 'The 39 Steps', the character performs feats of derring-do to challenge all adversaries and stir the imagination.
> 
> At the time of this story, the Berlin Wall had not yet been put into place, but passage between East and West was strictly monitored and frequently restricted. And, as seemed the case throughout much of its existence, Berlin was a hotbed of political manoeuverings.

"Coulda been me, ya know," he said grimly when they got the news. "Don't know what 'e thought 'e was doing; 'eard 'e was doing all right in the theatre, still bringing in the crowds right steady. Even got the marquee changed the way 'e said 'e always wanted, from 'Malcolm The Magnificent' to 'Flood The Fabulous'. Yes, yes, Andrew, I know you always liked the first better, but that wasn't the point, now was it? W'at the 'ell 'e was doing in East Berlin, I can't imagine! And trying to pull off a caper like that! 'E's a magician, an escape artist, sure, one a the best, maybe, but 'e aint no bloody spy!!! Just who does 'e think 'e is, bloody Richard Hannay?? Sounds more like one a the jobs WE would 'ave gotten up to back at good ole Stalag 13." 

He seemingly became lost in thought, an uncomfortable idea (well, one of several) coming to his mind. He drank his coffee slowly, smoking that cigarette down to the last possible half-inch, then raised stony eyes to his tablemate. "Andrew . . ."

Andrew Carter was getting a really bad feeling about this. Oh, sure, he remembered Malcolm Flood well enough. Well, how do you forget a man who somehow manages to convince you to get into a footlocker in your commanding officer's quarters while you're supposed to be watching him, then takes the opportunity to escape? Boy, it had taken him a long time to . . . No, let's face it, he never HAD lived that down. But he also remembered that Flood had come back, had let himself become a prisoner again, just to keep their whole operation from going down in flames. Of course, once he'd been transferred to another Stalag, he'd been off and gone, slick as a wink, but still . . .

"Peter, you're not thinking of trying to get him out, are you?" he asked, as if he didn't know quite well that was exactly what his friend was thinking. There was no answer, as Peter Newkirk had already sunk deep into the past, remembering that cheeky, "Oi'll take that bet, Newkirk!" that let them know Sergeant Malcolm Flood, also known as Malcolm The Magnificent, had returned, once again escaping the clutches of the Nazi's after allowing himself to be captured just in time to save the day. 

{"Well, looks like 'e took the wrong bet this time, don't it?"}

It didn't take but that second outgoing call before Caeide knew something was up, that combined with the feverish rummaging in the Library in the map section, the harsh cursing over the inadequacies of current information available there. She'd stood in the doorway to that jam-packed room, watching Andrew, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an open European atlas and German and Swiss railroad timetables, while Peter was bent over in the corner running his fingers over the books on current European politics. No, Haven tried not to get caught up in the outside world and its madness, but it didn't pay to keep blinders on, either.

Now, with the chime that had announced an incoming radio message, one she had written down with increasingly grim attention, she was determined to find out just what her lads were up to. It certainly wasn't any of their usual fun and games; the looks were far too serious, the curses too heartfelt.

"Not that I don't understand why you want to help, Peter; I do. I just have to wonder about a few things. Like how he managed to end up in this mess in the first place. And, just who thought to bring the news to YOU. And how they, whoever they are, knew where to find you."

Newkirk was wondering a bit about all of that too, but figured he'd worry about that later. First things first, just how were they going to get Malcolm The Magnificent out of East Berlin before he ended up lost in some dulag for the rest of his (probably) short life. 

"Peter, maybe we can . . . " Andrew started eagerly, only to get a harsh "NO! Andrew, you aint comin along. Bad enough I'm likely to get me own self killed; aint gonna watch you get yourself scragged too!"

"You can't go alone!" Andrew burst out, a deep frown on his face.

"No, Andrew, he's not going alone. Nor are just the two of you going. I think it might be time to use some of the budget for some 'charity work', don't you? Seems I heard Meghada say her lads had been in and out of East Berlin over the past few months. Let's see if they would be willing to dangle their fingers in our pie. Smart lads, those, talented, and they've kept in practice, for all they are calling their jobs 'consultations' now."

Another radio call, and Ian was landing in the big meadow, offloading a crew of five laughing men to greet those standing there waiting for them. Craig Garrison smiled, reached out to shake hands with Peter and Andrew, giving Caeide a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Hear you have a job for us." There was something in that steady green-eyed gaze that made Newkirk relax just a little. Maybe this just WAS possible.

 

They'd spent the past two days touring West Berlin, after they'd submitted their passports for review and stamping at the border. They'd window-shopped, not that there was anything much in the windows, though certainly more than there would have been on the other side of that dividing line. They'd visited a museum or two, gaining the attention of the grim-faced attendants by their seeming intense interest in some of the more valuable exhibits, their peering around as if looking for the security systems. They'd had meals in public restaurants, coffee and beer in the sidewalk cafes. In short, they'd made themselves obvious, all the while pretending not to notice the rotating tail of nondescript-featured men in raincoats and felt hats. Never by a word or by their actions could anyone have told what their business was in West Berlin; they seemed to HAVE no purpose other than what they'd noted upon their entry, 'just a bit of a layover, nothing in particular'.

Meanwhile, a group of five men and one woman had arrived by a slightly different route, strictly tailored suits and stern looks marking them as business travelers intent on their business and nothing else. There was absolutely nothing to indicate they were about to pull off a masterful con, nothing to link them to that con once it was completed. Well, that WAS their specialty, after all.

Peter and Andrew had gathered in the slightly battered and thoroughly chastened stage artist, once the way had been made clear. Now, waiting for the others to return from handling the other little details (like the job Malcolm Flood had been given in the first place), they heard the explanation they'd been waiting for.

"There's this girl, see, Liesl. Met 'er on tour, was filling in working tables at a club I was performing at, and we really 'it it off, you know? Only, she's 'ere, I'm there, and other than some letters, not much else til my next tour and that's months away. Next thing I know, 'e's at my stagedoor, telling me she's in trouble, due to be arrested anytime, and 'e can 'elp get 'er out and away, if I just do 'im a little favor along the way. Said you recommended me, said no one could do the job any better. Right flattered, I was too, I 'ave to admit, knowing all YOU'D gotten up to, Newkirk."

Newkirk gritted his teeth, biting off the words. "WHO, Malcolm? WHO said I recommended you? Cause I bloody well didn't, you know! If I'm to go recommending someone to get their bleedin 'eads shot off, I'll be upfront enough to tell 'im myself! WHO??"

Malcolm's eyes were wide with shock, and he stuttered for an answer. It was a small voice that answered though, once Andrew could inhale deeply enough to make that answer.

"You know who, Peter. You know who it had to have been."

And Newkirk found himself unable to deny what he'd suspected since the beginning of this dangerous farce. "'ogan," he whispered, watching Malcolm's face, seeing the answer there.

"Well, aint like I'd 'ave taken anyone else's word for it, mate. But 'e said you'd told 'im, I was the only other one you figured could manage the job, other than yourself. Told me, in confidence, that you'd kinda gotten beyond it, you know, didn't 'ave the spark anymore yourself. Gone all domestic-like, wife and kiddies and raising sheep and all bleedin else. Didn't seem like you, 'ave to admit, but 'e swore it was the truth."

Newkirk's face grew hard as stone, "you've still got the contacts, Malcolm. Want you to be passing the word, and damned fast. 'E don't speak for me, not now, not ever again. Any who want to get caught up in 'is games, that's their nevermind and their lookout, but don't put it at my doorstep. And they'd better know 'e's a treacherous bastard at best, and not one to be counting on to watch your back. You get that word out, you 'ear me??!"

Malcolm nodded slowly, "can see that now. Just, remembering 'im, all of you from before, never crossed my mind 'e wasn't playing straight."

Andrew snorted, "you're just lucky! He doesn't play straight with anyone; I don't think he knows how. Oh, he didn't INTEND for you to get caught, at least I don't think so; it's just that it wouldn't matter too much to him if you did, not if you delivered on what he wanted. And your girl? Maybe he would have gotten her out, maybe he wouldn't. I don't think he'd have considered that very important, you know."

Somehow, that, from Andrew Carter of all people, someone Malcolm had remembered as being one of the downright nicest people he'd ever met, convinced Malcolm even more than that impassioned warning from Peter Newkirk. Yes, he'd be passing the word, alright, and he had plenty of contacts in lots of areas. General Robert Hogan would be barking up the wrong tree if he expected to rope any of those contacts into his games. Malcolm was an uncommonly congenial man, but he didn't much fancy being taken for a mark.

"And w'at now, Malcolm? Back to London, back to the footlights and newspaper clippings and the fame? 'Eard you got w'at you wanted, billing yourself as "Flood The Fabulous' now." Peter gave a wry grin, thinking of the days when he'd been so sure that that was what he'd wanted too, the clippings, the fame, the adulation of the masses.

Malcolm flushed, "well, this 'as got me thinking. Oh, not just this job and it all going pear shaped like it did. But about w'at 'e said, about you getting beyond it, going all domestic, wife and kiddies and all. Liesl, she's mentioned she'd not mind 'aving a couple a tikes, and was thinking about finding someplace and maybe taking up a new career. Don't know I'd fancy sheep, but a little pub somewhere maybe. Got some saved up, could manage buying a place if it weren't too dear. Liesl's a right good cook; works at a restaurant now, in the kitchen. Could still do some of my old act, maybe make it sorta a 'destination' pub, if you know w'at I mean? Bring in some a the day trippers, maybe even get some of the small tour buses stopping in. Figure on calling it "Malcolm's 'ouse of Magic, Etc". Get it? - aitch, o, m, e - 'ome. 'Malcolm's 'OME'. Kinda a secret name, you see? Reckon my name would still be a draw. Might do right well. And I could spend a little more time with the cricket bat; rather fancy that, I do, though not quite w'at a bloke like me would be thought likely to, acourse. Might even find a team to play on regular like." 

He frowned, "course, Liesl's still across the way and stuck there. Newkirk, I can't just go off and leave 'er 'ere! She's the only reason I stepped into this in the first place!"

"We'll 'ave a good think about Liesl, see w'at can be done. But for the rest, now that sounds like a right smart plan, Malcolm; got some friends, might put you in the way of something you'd fancy. We'll see; 'ave to wait and get out of this mess and back to good ole England first." 

They settled down to wait, talking of this and that, keeping a close eye on the door. Newkirk, always the cynic (he preferred to call it being realistic) wondered if Liesl really was who she seemed, or if she was someone Hogan had enlisted to help set up this whole scheme. Still, Malcolm said he'd met her over a year ago, so maybe she was on the up and up. Newkirk hoped so; seemed like his fellow entertainer had a right good plan for the rest of his life. It'd be a shame if his Liesl turned out to be a little twister like some he'd known.

Andrew though, Andrew's eyes shone with happy acceptance, "gee, I think that's all great, Malcolm! We've got kids, you know, and there's nothing like it!"

Malcolm cocked his head over at Andrew, "so you're married too, all settled down?"

Andrew grinned at Peter, getting that warning look in return, "oh, yeah, all settled down, and couldn't be happier!"

Malcolm shook his head in wonder, "still can't believe you coming riding in to the rescue like this, not with 'aving families and all! Your wives must 'ave 'ad a few words to say about that!"

Andrew giggled, "oh, there were a few! But she understood. In fact, you can ask her about it when the others get here." 

Newkirk rolled his eyes, {"surprised Andrew aint laid out the sleeping arrangements and all. Well, I suppose 'e'll get around to that before long!"}. He quickly took up the slack to prevent any such thing from happening, at least, right away.

"Now, Malcolm, tell us all about your Liesl, everything about where she'd be most times, everything. More we know, better we can plan out something that works. Reckon we've got a spell before the others show up."

 

Garrison was flipping through the papers they'd retrieved, the ones Malcolm had been talked into stealing, but had gotten nabbed before he'd made the snatch. "Politics!" he said with more than a little disgust. 

"Do we take them to the contact point where Malcolm was to leave them?" Actor asked, after he'd taken a quick glance through the documents Garrison had handed off to him.

"No, we don't", Garrison said grimly, pulling out his lighter. "We burn them. "

"But w'at about Malcolm's girl, Craig? Don't like the idea of leaving 'er in the lurch," Goniff worried. He took a quick look to the side of the room where Malcolm and Andrew were chatting away with Caeide.

"We won't leave her in the lurch, Goniff." He raised his voice, loud enough the others could all hear. "Gather round, everyone, here's what we're going to do," and Casino shook his head at how much it felt like one of their wartime missions.

{"There he goes again, with the ideas! Still, this one feels like something worth getting behind, getting that guy and his girl outta this mess. That Hogan, he's really something, always with the games!"}

And it worked, Garrison's plan, all the way up to when those three men stepped out of the shadows, pistols in two of their hands, a rifle or something like a rifle in the other's hands. Except that rifle had an odd little canister at the business end, and everyone knew that was where the danger lay. They scattered as best they could, Caeide far enough in the shadows she could scurry up that dangling rope to the floor above. Then, without a word, it all hit the fan. If it hadn't been for Caeide getting a bead on the two shooters, there would have been a lot of their own blood spilt. As it was, the world erupted in a whoosh of smoke and flames and there was no time for any thought but to survive.

 

Caeide and Actor, assisted by a silently weeping Liesl, had helped wrap Malcolm's burned hands and face. Actor thought the man's face would heal, though there would be some scarring, perhaps nothing too bad, not if they got him competent care fairly soon. The hands, though, there was a great deal of damage there, enough he could tell that there would be a considerable loss of dexterity. Goniff and Peter were looking particularly grim.

Well, they would, of course. Peter, well, he knew quite well what it was to lose what he'd used to call "me magic fingers - me livelihood". Goniff had been lucky throughout the war, avoiding any serious damage to his talented fingers, though this mission had come perilously close to changing that. In fact, if it hadn't been for Malcolm, it WOULD have changed that, if he had even survived, Goniff and Andrew both. 

Garrison stood watching, anger tightening his jaw. They'd been set up, he was ALMOST sure of that. No, nothing he could prove, but his gut instincts had been pretty well honed during the war, and he'd never really lost the touch. Well, maybe not THEM, so much as Peter and Andrew. After all, it was Peter that original tease of a message had been sent to. And it was on Andrew that man had focused with that flash grenade, without hesitation, and it wasn't like Andrew was the most dangerous looking one of their group.

It would have been helpful to have been able to question him about his orders, his intentions, but Garrison hadn't hesitated before shooting him in the heart. After all, Goniff had been standing right alongside Andrew, and the memory of that would cause Garrison a few sleepless nights in the future, he knew. If it hadn't been for Flood using that shovel to bat the device away from the two men, it would have been them showered with flames, straight on; instead, the escape artist had managed to deflect the projectile, but caught much of the backlash when it exploded. They'd all managed to escape the building before it went up in flames, but it had been a close-run thing. Caeide had been caught on the upper floor, and the flames had spread so fast she couldn't get down to join them in their escape. She'd had to head to high ground, make her way out that way. Garrison hadn't been the only one with his heart in his throat watching that daring escape from the ground below.

Luckily Garrison had contacts in Switzerland, as of course did Caeide, since that had been their planned exit route. Liesl and Malcolm had been settled in with a Clan Friend while Malcolm underwent medical care at a private clinic. They'd visited him before they headed back to their respective homes. 

"Guess this puts paid to any notion of going back on the stage," Malcolm had admitted ruefully, looking at the bandages still on his hands. "Still, there's the pub; we still fancy that idea if we can find the right place." He frowned, worried, "you think they'll come looking for us?" 

Garrison had shook his head, "no reason for them to, that I can see. You were both pawns, and the way that warehouse went up, it would be logical to presume you two were still in there. Though, you're right, you can't be going back to the stage, not under your own name. Even a preliminary search would let anyone looking find you. I think you're smart to have had a second plan. Let us look around, see what we can locate you might be interested in."

The magician looked a little more hopeful at that, but when the others had left, had remarked regretfully to Peter and Andrew, "still, I kinda liked that name for the place, 'Malcolm's 'ouse of Magic, Etc'. Shame to 'ave to give it up."

Andrew's eyes were at his most innocent, "gee, Malcolm, I don't see why you can't still use the name. There's more kinds of magic than card tricks and sawing people in half and pulling rabbits out of a hat! You said it was kinda a hidden name anyway, 'Malcolm's H O M E'. There's a whole bunch of magic in a home, you know, if it's the right kind. You and Liesl do it right, bet it'll be all the magic you need." 

Peter looked at that open face, those eyes just shining with childlike confidence, and shook his head in amusement. {"Andrew, sometimes you say the craziest damned things, and other times, you know just what's BEST to say."} seeing the eagerness rekindled on Malcolm's face.

 

They were back home, having spent the first bit of time hugging Maude and Marisol and the kids, taking long hot showers and doing some more (a lot more) hugging of those they had wondered if they'd live to hold again.

"W'at do you think 'e 'ad in mind, Andrew? Still can't believe 'e'd try to get us killed. And no reason for 'im to 'ave it in for good old Malcolm," Newkirk was morosely sipping at his whiskey.

Andrew's face showed none of the naive mischief-maker he frequently presented. "I think Malcolm was just convenient, what with having some of the same skills, someone to do a job he needed done. But when it went all wrong? I guess it was logical to try to get you to finish the job. I don't think he was trying to kill us. Well, not you, Peter. Maybe me." He saw the appalled look on Newkirk's face and didn't press the point. He shrugged, "well, maybe not. Maybe that just happened," {"though I don't think so. We don't know if he ever figured out I'm here permanent, but he'd sure be pissed if he does. He'd want me out of the way if he could manage it, even if he didn't figure all that out."}

He went on. "But I think maybe he thought once you were neck-deep in another job, like what we used to run, that you'd like it enough to want to continue. You know, would get in touch and start working with him again."

Newkirk looked at him incredulously, "coo, Andrew! Aint stupid, and can't believe he is either. Aint got w'at it takes to run that kinda game anymore; 'e was right enough in what 'e told Flood, you know. Past all that - all domesticated, I am, didn't you 'ear?" ignoring the snort of amusement from Andrew and from Caeide, who was sitting along with them, working on the horse-breeding records.

"Yes, Peter, I could see that in Berlin, just how domesticated and past it you are! Led those agents on a fine little chase, you did, had them not knowing which end was up. And that was a lovely diversion you arranged when we were grabbing Liesl, and your knife work hasn't lost its touch either, that was plain enough!"

He flushed, but gave her a sly grin, "well, didn't see you acting the simple little haus-frau either," remembering her scurrying up that rope and handling that pistol like she'd been born with it in her hand. He frowned, "though I'd as soon not see you doing anything like that again, leaping from one roof-top to the other! Bloody scary, it was, watching you do that!"

She laughed, "well, it's not likely I'll be doing that again, and wouldn't have done it this time, not if I'd had a choice. Maybe even then, if I'd known . . ."

She paused, this not exactly how she'd intended to break the news. Then she shrugged, {"now, tomorrow, the next day. I'll still hear about that jump for months if not longer."}

Andrew looked at her, questioningly, "if? If what, Caeide?"

She gave a rueful grin, "if I'd known I was jumping for two," {"or maybe three, the way things went the first two times!"}, watching as the penny dropped, and then the yelling began. Yes, it was going to be a long time before they let her forget THIS!

 

The villagers gathered around to watch the activity, the boards being torn off the shuttered windows, the debris cleared from around the doorway.

"It's right glad we are to see the place opening again. Missed it, we have, what with old Thomas moving off to live with his son back Glasgow way. A pub's the heart of a village, to my way of thinking; aint the same without one," the gnarly man in the checkered cap offered.

The skinny man with the scarred face nodded cheerfully, "always thought that meself, mate. Be a mite of work to get everything up and running, but imagine we'll be opening within a couple of weeks if all goes well. Serving some meals, along with the drink; my wife, she's right 'andy in the kitchen. Brought along a dart board, of course; a pub's no pub without its darts games, now is it?" 

He walked over and pulled a signboard from the back of the truck. The onlookers noticed his hands were heavily scarred as well, the skin shiny as if from fairly recent burns. 

"Malcolm's House of Magic, Etc.", one of the locals read with a puzzled look. "Odd name for a pub," an uptilt at the end of the statement just begging for an explanation.

"Well, it's a right odd way it all came about too. Come along on opening night, and I'll tell it to you. First round's on the 'ouse."

She gently scolded him after the crowd dissipated and they forced open the stuck door to see the surprisingly intact interior. "Not yet open and already you're giving away the drinks, Hasli," she chided him, but with an amused look on her face.

"Might as well get off on the right foot, Liesl. They'll be the ones to be our customers, 'opefully some of them will be our friends. Some might 'ave tikes of their own; gonna need playmates for ours, you know," as he gently patted her slightly rounded baby-bump.

"Well, then show me the kitchen and I will see how much has to be done before we can settle into our little home and open our business. You say there is a house to the back that is ours also?"

"That's what Peter and Andrew said in their letter. The former owner left the furniture and everything, so it's something to start with anyway. Said Craig and 'is people located it, and when they told me, it sounded just what we'd been talking about. Only been down about a month, so custom 'asn't 'ad a chance to find a new place to gather. If we want it, it's all in place; we're to pay them back out of profits over time, nothing to put us in a bind. Lucky for us, you know, Liesl, them being related like that. Did my bit for them, Peter and Andrew and their mates, you know, during the war, but never expected them to step up like that, bail me out of 'igh waters like they did. 'Ere, you wander about the kitchen, make a list of w'at we need to order in. I want to get the 'ammer and nails and put up our sign. That's to make it official-like. Malcolm's 'ouse of Magic, Etc - Malcolm's 'OME!"

And he beamed a joyous grin over at his Liesl, who sighed with happiness in return. There was just such magic in his wide smile, his bright eyes; she'd thought that from the very first time they'd met.


End file.
